"All right. I know I can trust you not to cheat me, since you're a
trustee. So I won't worry about that."

Mr. Harold drew out a bulky book from his pocket, and handed Connie a
crisp new bill. Her eyes sparkled as she received it.

"But, Connie," he continued, "I feel that I ought to give you this. We
Methodists have done a wicked thing in forgetting our November
payments, and I will just give you this bill to make up for it."

But Connie shook her head decidedly. "Oh, no! I'll have to give it
back, then. Father would not stand that,--not for one minute. Of
course, parsonage people get things given to them, quite a lot. And
it's a good thing, too, I must say! But we don't hint for them, Mr.
Harold. That wouldn't be right." She held out the bill toward him,
with very manifest reluctance.

"Keep it,--we'll call it a loan then, Connie," he said. "And you may
pay me back, five cents at a time, just as is most convenient."

The four older girls were at the table when Connie arrived. She
exhaled quiet satisfaction from every pore. Prudence glanced at her
once, and then looked away again. "She has reconciled herself," she
thought. Dinner was half over before Constance burst her bomb. She
had intended waiting until they were quite through, but it was more
than flesh and blood could keep!

"Are you going to be busy this afternoon, Prudence?" she asked quietly.

"We are going to sew a little," said Prudence. "Why?"